“I’m sure,” Grandma Marchand says, in a way that implies she’s not. “Lily’s got a big heart and she’s as stubborn as her father. Do you think she’ll make a stupid decision because of this boy? Stay here just to be close to him? Go to the same community college as him? If he’s captured her as thoroughly as you think…”
“She might,” Eloise says.
“And give up her spot at Yale?”
“She hasn’t gotten in yet, Evelyn.”
An elegant snort. “But she will. She is a legacy, two times over. Of course she will. And this boy… He might stand in the way.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. Still, the decision needs to be Lily’s.”
“Of course,” Grandma Marchand says. “And in making that decision, we need to make sure that she has the proper guidance.”
“I’ll talk to her.” I hear the slamming of pots, closer to where I’m pressed against the back door. “I’ll make sure she knows that no boy is worth sacrificing her future for.”
“That’s right. Least of all that rogue, too. Where did you say he came from again?”
I don’t need to hear anymore.
I wait for a few more moments, until I hear them leave the kitchen, before I slip out through the door.
* * *
The waves are soothing against the beach. A few almost make it all the way up to the stairs to the beach house. They inch closer, but I know they won’t make it. They’ve tried for years—every night at high tide—but they never make it.
The ocean is complete blackness. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting out here. It feels like I’ve been alone with my thoughts and the ocean for an eternity.
The dinner party will be finished up by now. Michael Marchand will drive the old lady home. Lily will stand on the grand porch, the pearls she hates to wear around her neck like a noose, and wave goodbye like the good girl they want her to be. The good girl she is.
I can see her in my mind’s eye. Her hair is piled high on her head in a nod to old-fashioned customs. Her dress is perfectly ironed. All of her, one gigantic do not touch sign.
Eloise and Gran weren’t wrong. I’m beneath her, and we all know it.
And I would rather die than let her sacrifice her future just because of my lowly prospects. Her love would turn to resentment soon enough, when she’s denied the same opportunities her brothers are, because of me. Because she didn’t go to Yale. Because her boyfriend doesn’t drive a sports car. He currently doesn’t have a car at all.
It’s late when I hear the soft padding of her feet on the sand. She’s barefoot, walking from the main house. The perfect dress is hitched up to give her more legroom, and she’s released her hair. It tumbles wild and free down her shoulders, a river of auburn curls.
She’s so beautiful it hurts.
Lily takes a seat next to me on the steps. We sit in silence for a while, watching the waves as they fight against nature’s laws to make it up the beach.
I can tell that she wants me to talk. To explain myself—why I didn’t show up, despite promising to. But I can’t tell her what I overheard. The words won’t come. Not for the first time, there’s absolutely nothing I can say to make this right or to explain myself.
“Hey,” I finally murmur.
“Hiya.”
“How was dessert?”
“Disgusting. Liquor-infused cherries. You didn’t miss a thing.”
And there she goes, trying to make me feel better even though she doesn’t have a clue why I’m down. Lily’s kindness has always been one of the most amazing things about her. I’ve never understood how one person could carry so much understanding and love.
But that’s also why I need to ask her something, even if the answer will break me.
“That sounds awful.”
“It was.” She scoots closer until we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh. I can see the goose bumps on her legs.
“You’re cold, Lils.”
“I’m not.”
I shrug out of my hoodie and wrap it around her. She nestles into my side until I’m forced to wrap an arm around her shoulders. It feels better than it should.
“Lily, have you thought more about college?”
She takes my hand and puts it on her bare knee. Her soft skin is riddled with goose bumps and I rub my thumb in little circles, trying to keep her warm and failing. “A bit. I’ve been reading course catalogs this week.”
“Yale?”
“Yeah, and Princeton.” She traces one of my knuckles. “And Rexfield College. They have some interesting courses in art design.”
I feel nauseous, all of a sudden. “They do?”
Lily’s voice is soft. “Yes. And I know it’s not as prestigious as the others, but I don’t really care about all that. What’s really important is that I get a good education.”
“Your parents would hate community college.”
“Yes, well, they’d come around. I’m the last to go.” She shoots me an exasperated glance. “After all of Henry’s success, do you really think it matters what I end up doing?”
“Yes. I think it matters.”
Her green eyes soften, just slightly. “I’d be close by, you know, if you continue to work at the marina. If you apply too, we’d even be going to the same college.”
“You always spoke about Yale,” I murmur. “It’s your dad’s alma mater.”
She rolls her eyes. “Not you, too. Have you and my dad finally begun to see eye-to-eye?”
“Sometimes we do,” I say. When it comes to her and her happiness, I figure we might be on the same page entirely. And in this regard, I know I’m not a part of the calculation.
She senses my hesitation. With a small sigh, she leans her head against my shoulder as I tighten my grip around her thigh. Lily has never been closer to me than she is now, with no brothers around, just the two of us together on the beach without secrets or pretensions.
But she has never been more out of reach.
“It’s just a thought so far,” she murmurs. “We can talk about it more later.”
Her voice might be soft, but I can hear steel lacing her words. She would go to the mat for this if she had to. Fight with her parents over this. Turn down her legacy and an opportunity that kids like me didn’t even dare to dream of.
For me.
And fuck if that didn’t terrify me.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s talk about it more later.”
There’s no sound but her soft breathing and the waves gently crashing against the beach. I’m so used to the smell of salt by now that I barely register it anymore, but it suddenly hits me with the same force it had the first time. The sound of the ocean has become home, even if I’d never meant it to. Somewhere along the line I had forgotten that I wasn’t from here.
I’d forgotten who I was, and suddenly I can’t stay here for even a second longer, or it would tear me apart.
“Come on,” I say and grab her hand. “Let’s go.”
She smiles at me as I pull her into standing. “Where to?”
“Somewhere. Anywhere. Away.”
Lily pulls my hoodie tighter around her. Her eyes search mine, and I don’t know what she sees in me, or if she realizes just how close to the edge I am in that moment—that there’s a storm inside me that I need to let out or it would drive me mad entirely—but she just nods.
“Okay.” There’s a smile as dazzling as the night sky on her lips and trust in her gaze. “Let’s go, Hay.”
18
Lily
The present
The first thing I think is, This must have cost him a fortune.
The second thing is, He got me pastels. I haven’t painted with pastels in forever.
The third thing is less complimentary. How dare he?
I carry the giant basket inside and put it on my dining-room table. It’s filled to the brim with the very best supplies a girl can ask for. It’s with shaking hands that I pull out a jar of gesso, and I
can’t help the smile that breaks across my face at the packet of charcoal crayons. It’s been over a year since I did this—since I painted just for fun. Looking at these supplies, at the millions of possibilities… it does something to me. Tightens my chest and opens my heart. Dangerous, dangerous.
There’s a note, too. His handwriting has improved, compared to the ten-year-old letter.
Sorry for the other night.
Let’s give friendship another try.
I promise I’ll behave. -Hay
Friendship. He comes back out of the blue, not a call or a text in ten years. He goes out of his way to be at events I’m at, fixing my damn gate without my permission. He tells me he’s sorry for leaving and asks for friendship.
Okay. All right.
I can handle that.
But I can’t handle him asking me, in that deep voice of his, whether or not I missed him while he was away. I can’t handle Hayden kissing me like he’s afraid I’m going to break, like I’m all he’s ever wanted, like he wants to start something anew. It wasn’t a kiss for old time’s sake—it was a make-up kiss. A start-things-again-kiss.
My hands clamp into fists of their own accord. How dare he.
I’d worked so hard to get over him. So hard to ignore the painful beat of my heart when I thought of him, the constant comparison when I was around other men.
Why did he still have the cone shell?
I’d seen it on his mantlepiece. A large cone shell with a delicately painted landscape on it. A blazing sunset cast against trees, a full moon. I’d made it for his fourteenth birthday. I knew that if I turned it around, on the inside of the shell, I’d see the scruffy handwriting that thirteen-year-old me had worked so hard to perfect. To Hay, love Lils
He’d kept it.
He’d even brought it with him to his rental—a house so clinically decorated that it practically screamed bachelor pad.
Why?
I pick up the big basket and carry it to my guest room. I put it on the bed and close the door behind me. Until I figure out what to do with Hayden, I won’t use a thing. I don’t want his gifts until they come with a proper explanation—or when I’ve decided I can live without one.
As it so happens, I might just be able to get one tonight.
My mother likes Friday night dinners. It had been a standing routine growing up. On Friday night, at seven o’clock, she’d serve some amazing dish in the main dining room. In the summers, we would barbecue on the porch and Dad would handle the grill. Sometimes we ate roasted lobster, giggling as we waved the claws around, pretending to fight one another.
Being back in Paradise Shores meant going to Mom’s Friday night dinners, as often as possible, or suffer her wrath.
Sometimes it was just the family, but more often than not there were plenty of people. Friends of my parents were invited to join, as was the extended family. Sometimes the neighbors. Growing up, Hayden was often there, especially if he’d already been playing with my brothers beforehand.
After the argument I’d had with Mom—after she hid that letter for ten years—I hadn’t planned on going this Friday. But then she told me she had invited both Gary and his nephew. For old time’s sake, she had written in the text, but I recognized it as an attempt at an apology.
She’s trying to make amends.
And while I don’t forgive her… I also don’t want to pass up on the opportunity. When I arrive at the family house, my parents’ driveway is already filled with cars. I recognize the black Mercedes that Hayden’s currently driving. Parker’s Jeep is there too. I’m the last to arrive.
They’re out on the porch and I hear the sounds of laughter and ice against glass. Parker spots me first. He has his sunglasses on, sitting on the settee, a beer in his hand.
“Finally!”
I shake my head right back at him and head to the barbecue. My dad is focused on the steaks, a look of supreme confidence on his face. He treats everything in life like he does his business deals. “I’m only five minutes late.”
“Sure, sure,” Parker says.
Dad wraps an arm around me. “Hello, sweetheart.”
“Hi.”
He frowns down at me. “I heard about the Anderson project from Reed Harris.”
“You did?”
“Yes. He said his son was running lead on it… with help from you.”
“I worked on it, yes. We just recently sold it. Turned a solid profit.”
Dad nods and turns back to the grill. “That’s good. Cut your teeth, sweetheart.”
He doesn’t say it, but I hear the implication. And in a few years… you might work with me. I know he doesn’t consider Harris Development proper builders, not in the way he is.
“I will,” I say, knowing it might be a lie. I’m not sure I want to work with this, not forever.
My dad gives a nod. “Your mom is inside.”
I know when I’m dismissed.
Hayden’s standing at the end of the porch. He’s wearing dark-blue slacks and a button-down. It’s simple clothing, but he fills them out completely. There’s no doubt just how muscular he is.
His eyes meet mine. There are questions in them, questions I know he’ll ask later. About the kiss. About the basket. About us.
He glances down at my dress and I see the exact moment he realizes just what I’m wearing. I have to admit, after eleven years the fit isn’t quite what it used to be, but somehow, that only works to my advantage. The blue dress hugs my curves and the scalloped back shows off more skin that I usually would nowadays. Still, it’s modest enough for a Friday family dinner.
His eyes flick back to mine with surprise. Yes, I want to tell him. You remember this dress. It’s what I wore to my eighteenth birthday party—the night we became us. For a while, at least. Before he broke it.
I turn my back on him.
Gary comes up the stairs to join us. He’s rarely at Friday night dinners, and I’ve always wondered if he feels uncomfortable with the odd mix of friendship, family and work. But Hayden’s presence isn’t something he’d miss.
My dad shakes Gary’s hand.
“Glad you could join us tonight.”
“Thanks for the invitation, sir.”
“Have a seat. There’s wine and beer.” Dad raises his voice. “Parker, get Gary something to drink.”
My good-for-nothing brother shoots out of his chair to do as Dad bids. I resist rolling my eyes and step past them into the kitchen. Mom is working on the final touches.
She stops when she sees me. “Chérie… I’m glad you came.”
“It’s tradition.”
Mom nods, her eyes glinting mischievously as she looks at my dress. As if she knows exactly why I’ve dressed up.
She’s put her hair up in a big bun and gold earrings dangle from her ears. The years have been good to her. It’s vanity, but I hope I’ll age like her. Like nice, aged French wine. Like a woman who gave up her home country for an American businessman. Who dedicated her life to raising four children and making this small, seaside town her home. She hasn’t always been easy to please—God knows that—but… I’ll forgive her eventually for the letter. I know that.
“Help me with the haricot verts?” Her voice is tentative, pointing at the small casserole.
“Sure.”
“A bit more salt.” She’s quiet, both of us working in silence for a few beats, before she surprises me by talking about Hayden. “The military…it’s not exactly a place for just anyone. I didn’t know he had that streak, but when I think back on it, I think it was just the right place for him.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Can you imagine Parker in the Army? Rhys?” Mom takes a tray of baked potatoes out from the oven. They smell amazing, filled to the brim with herbs and seasoning and cheese. Dad might know how to grill—the only thing he knows how to do in terms of food—but Mom reigns supreme in here.
“Henry, maybe,” I say.
She nods, a smile on her face at the thought of my old
est brother. The wonder child. “Yes, Henri would manage it. He’d probably excel. But no, I can’t imagine any of you others would, apart from Hayden.”
I can’t tell if she’s genuine in her praise of Hayden, or if she wants to get on my good side again, but I decide to not question it.
“Are we ready to sit down to dinner?”
“Yes,” she says, carrying the potatoes. “Do you want to tell your dad to take the meat off the grill?”
We all take a seat around the dining table. Hayden takes the spot opposite me, and I can tell that he’s searching for my gaze, but I avoid making eye contact with him. I’m feeling too much, not all of it good, and I don’t trust my gaze. He’s always had a way of being able to read me.
But as it turns out, it’s difficult to avoid looking at someone who’s the clear subject of conversation. Mom asks him repeatedly if he got hurt in the Navy. Dad asks about rankings and career prospects. Parker makes sly innuendoes about scars and women, drawing laughs from all corners of the table.
Hayden grins and bears it all.
The boy I remembered would have hated being the center of attention, had disliked praise, but now he handles it with grace. The expression on his face is one of serenity.
And when Hayden regales us with a story from his time patrolling the Bering Straits, nobody eats, hanging on to his every word. My dad and Parker can’t get enough of the details.
“And you were right off the coast of Russia?”
Hayden nods. “We’re in international waters, but the storm caught us off guard. There was no warning—nothing. We wouldn’t make it to port in time, so we had to ride it out at sea. That’s not unusual in the Straits in September, these storms, when the sea ice is starting to form in the Arctic. It’s one of the last patrols of the year before we need to use the ice-breakers.”
“The waves?”
“Over forty feet.”
Parker whistles. “Shit.”
“Thing is, the wind is so strong, it’s pushing us closer to their border. And command knows that the closer we come, the more antsy the Russians are getting.”
Rogue: A Paradise Shores Novel Page 13
